When It Matters: A Collection of McSwarek Moments
by carroussella
Summary: She was the epitome of a searing hurt that time would never dull, the arc of torture that no balm could ever soothe. Collection of McSwarek one-shots; work in progress. EPISODIC. Mostly K , but some chapters are M.
1. 000 Once Upon A Time

**Fandom:** Rookie Blue**  
>Pairing:<strong> Sam/Andy  
><strong>Category:<strong> Friendship, Romance  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M_**  
>Collection of ONE-SHOTS<strong>_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sam Swarek as much as I'd like to.

**Synopsis: **EPISODIC.

**Author's Note:** Similar to the collection of one-shots I'm writing for Luke & Andy, this collection will capture moments between Sam & Andy (which are, quite frankly, much more fun to write since there are so many snarky moments between T.O. and rookie). I'll try to remain as close to canon as possible, although some liberties will be taken.

Work in progress, and will remain as such until Rookie Blue ends. Please leave a review if you're reading; I'd love to know what you think!

**Chapter Note:** Again, a short prologue and introduction to the whole series, but it will definitely get better (I hope!) Happy reading!

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><p><strong>It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.<strong>  
><em>~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~<em>

**000. Once Upon A Time**

There's one of those in every person's life.

The one that's more poignant than the memories that have been made, more bittersweet than the keepsakes of the past. More pleasant and painful than all of life's experiences combined.

The one that got away.

Always remembered with a sad sigh and a pensive smile, sometimes with a little laugh, but mostly with a fond "If only". Some people move away from the ones that got away; they carry on with their lives and the one who got away remains just that – a distant memory to be reminisced when they look back on their lives and think of all the things they could have done.

Others live in that time, in that memory, drifting along in life but never quite able to break free from that one regret. That only regret. Because the regret is too great, too overpowering, too magnified in their daily lives and they cannot break free from the imprisonment it has locked them into. For them, the agony of the loss is too debilitating that the memory is better washed away, forgotten, never drudged up. The memory is better never remembered.

She was his; the one that got away. She was the epitome of a searing hurt that time would never dull, the arc of torture that no balm could ever soothe.

But more painful that the knowledge that she probably never was his, was the fact that she was so close, and could've been, had he only asked.

She was the regret that he carried around, burdened by her presence in his life and her smile on his heart. The regret he would always remember with a smile, the regret he would always hold dear in his heart.

She was his greatest pleasure, and his biggest regret.


	2. 001 Fresh Blood Stinks From A Mile Away

_**Chapter Note: **Lots of thanks to those who reviewed the extremely short preview and placed this story in their favorites/alerts. It's amazing :) McSwarek really is a fun pair to write about and I couldn't get this piece done fast enough. My apologies for those who have subscribed to the story alerts – you probably got multiple alerts because FFnet keeps eating my formatting, and it's driving me nuts. Hopefully they finally get it right this time._

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><p><strong>001. Fresh Blood Stinks From A Mile Away<strong>

She would never tell him, but she was scared shitless, that first day she met him.

Her gun had been at the ready, the safety was off, and she was all prepared to fire if she needed to. But when she came upon him, in the middle of what looked like a drug deal, all her training had gone out the window and it had taken all she had to stop her hands from shaking.

All the way, she was praying fervently that she wouldn't have to pull the trigger.

He hadn't heeded her order to put his hands up; instead he had merely gotten up from his place at the windowsill and climbed out. Her knees had come close to buckling, her fear keeping her rooted to the spot, yelling for him to stop and hoping she wouldn't have to give chase.

She'd hidden behind a false bravado, bolstered by the uniform she wore and the courage her weapon gave. Her badge was her shield, and she retreated almost instinctively behind it, diving straight for the cover it gave her and hoping it would repeal the dangerous vibes that the men in front of her were emitting.

Yet the gun felt heavy, like a burden, before she holstered it and gave chase, and she would never forget how Sam Swarek made her run on her first day at work.

. . . . .

He would never tell her, but he could smell her fear from a mile away, that first day he met her.

He was in the middle of a deal with his informant and that skinny, dirty weasel had just been about to drop a bomb on Anton Hill just as she burst into the apartment, and it had taken all his control to stop from lashing out at her bad timing.

Only the big mouth standing next to him had stopped him from ripping into her, stopped him from demanding that she take her rookie high-handedness out of his undercover deal and let him get on with his work. Because damn it, the rookies always had a way of interfering with the _real_ police business, and they always had a way of making sure everything went south after they got involved.

He briefly wondered where her training officer was – and who it was, since he probably would have to yell at whoever it was for not keeping their rookie on a tighter leash – but she had looked so unsure of herself that for a moment, he was reminded of his first day on the job.

For that brief second, his heart actually went out to her. He thought he detected a slight shake in her hands, the weapon wavering from its aim, and it made him feel sorry for her. He didn't know if it was her first day, or her second, but it definitely was her first week on the job and he was sorry that she had to come face-to-face with a jackass like his undercover self.

But he knew that if he remained any longer in that room, his cover would be blown or she'd shoot him or he would continue getting sappy over the memories of his first shift. Neither of those was a good option to consider, so he'd high-tailed out of there, grabbing the slow-witted weasel by the arm and praying hard that the little rookie didn't give chase.

Because the only thing worse than getting caught while undercover was getting caught by a clueless rookie on her first day at work.

. . . . .

"Or what?"

Without missing a step, he taunted her. If the circumstances had been any different, he would definitely have mocked her further.

She was hot on his tail – a junkie's tail – and she still had the presence of mind to stop and radio for help. If he hadn't been so intent on running, so determined to keep his cover intact, he would have stopped to point to her that her radio wasn't even turned on, a fact that he had noticed the moment she stepped into the room, and that effectively, she was only talking to herself. _After_ he had finished laughing his ass off and making fun of her.

That sort of story would definitely make the locker room a lot livelier after shift ended.

But he couldn't. He couldn't spare the time to slow down, talk to her, and tell her exactly what she was doing wrong and what she should be doing. The fleeting thought that he was lucky to be undercover instead of training a helpless rookie like her crossed his mind, but he didn't have time to dwell too much on it.

Why was it always the rookies who felt the need to report their every step back to dispatch?

. . . . .

She supposed that drug addicts were conditioned not to stop when ordered to, so she wasn't exactly sure why she expected Sam Swarek to be any different. After all, he was nothing more than a greasy-haired dealer who just so happened to match the description of the killer they were seeking.

She thought she had lost them, after that near miss with Luke and his car, but her first day luck was surely shining down upon her and she heard them arguing. She hadn't expected how easy he seemed to have made it for her, taking cover behind a dinky garage shed a mere three blocks away, but she supposed that he couldn't be too smart if he was in that shady business.

If she hadn't been panting, out of breath, adrenaline taking over her system and her fight response taking over the flight instinct, she would have made a snarky comment about his intelligence. She didn't, of course, and she always told herself that it was because she was a professional in that uniform and not because Swarek – greasy hair and all – had truly rattled her wits.

She had expected him to obediently wait his turn to be cuffed, and she certainly didn't anticipate another mini-marathon. He had been watching her intently, and she grew increasingly uncomfortable under his unwavering stare. She would never tell him how the intensity of his dark eyes sent shivers up her spine, or that instead of being shivers of fear, of the unknown danger he posed, they were actually delicious quivers of an emotion she couldn't put a name to.

She was so focused on taking him down that she didn't stop to consider his words or how, instead of being afraid, he seemed more frustrated and angry, probably at himself for not being able to evade her. She was equally annoyed too, that he wouldn't stop talking. His voice distracted her, broke her concentration, and she needed to focus on what the academy had taught her to do in situations like these.

She needed to retreat behind cool professionalism and fall back on the training manual or she would once again dwell on the way his body felt under her hands.

. . . . .

He had dropped all pretenses, and now he was actually trying to resist arrest for real. It wasn't a game to play with the rookie; he needed to remain on the streets long enough to nail Anton Hill, and he couldn't afford to have his street cred flushed down the drain because he got caught.

So, it didn't take much of an effort to watch her closely and look for his opportunity to escape. For a moment he debated how far he should go to prevent her from taking him in, but in the end, she made the decision for him.

She went straight for his waist.

If he hadn't been so busy cursing himself, trying to adjust to the waves of pain spreading through his body at the contact he made with the hard pavement, or too busy cursing his inability to escape from this rookie – this _rookie_, for crying out loud! – he would have enjoyed the soft sensation of her hands on him.

Her hands lingered on his chest as he cried out in pain, an action he didn't think she was aware of. He allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, just for that moment, since it had been a long time since any woman had touched any part of him. That was the life of an undercover cop, and although he didn't regret it, he couldn't exactly say that he hadn't missed the soft warmth of a woman's arms.

And when she ran her hands over his back, over his ass, he had to resist the urge to shiver delightfully. It was a routine pat down, and he was somewhat disgusted at his own reaction, but the thought that suddenly popped into his mind was of this woman running her hands over him under different circumstances.

. . . . .

He could feel her smug smile washing over her in droves and the strange temptation to laugh overcame him. She was proud because she caught him? She probably had no idea of what she had just stepped into, and he was certain that Boyko would not take too kindly to the ruin of their eight months of hard work.

He accepted his unfortunate fate and slid willingly into the backseat of her cruiser, then silently kept a lookout for her training officer. He hoped it would be someone who knew he was undercover, because he would hate for the news to be all over the street before they even returned to the barn.

It had to be his lucky day when Oliver approached the car, and he stifled a bark of laughter as Oliver turned the rookie's radio on for her. Oliver was too kind to her; if it had been him, the rookie would definitely have gotten a lashing down for forgetting to turn her radio on. As a cop on patrol, the most dangerous thing was not being able to call for backup, and the rookie needed to learn that before she got herself killed.

He held his breath as Oliver settled into the car and met his gaze in the rearview mirror. Don't say anything to jinx this, was the mantra he played over and over in his head, silently willing Oliver to understand. To his immense relief, Oliver not only kept his mouth shut, but he also played along and pretended that they didn't know each other. He would definitely have to buy the man a couple of beers once this sting was over.

Until Jerry blew it all. He thought they could get of this with his reputation unscathed, then Jerry entered, greeted him like the long lost friend he was, and all the damage was done. Jerry couldn't retract it, and everyone in the room knew he was done for. He remembered her look of disbelief and astonished horror as the realization of what she had done dawned on her. He gave her a quick wink, although until this day he was still unsure as to why he felt the need to reassure her at that very moment.

He could barely control his fury in Boyko's office later, with Jerry apologizing repeatedly and the failure of his operation staring in his face. He didn't know which was worse: getting caught by a rookie, or having Jerry give the game away. It was a combination, he supposed, that fate dealt him, and while he had no other choice to accept that his cover was blown and there was no way he could go back out on the streets, it didn't mean he had to like it.

And he couldn't take his anger out on Jerry, because damn, the man was his friend and he was feeling terrible and he couldn't bring himself to berate him even further. Because Jerry was possibly the only person in that room who truly understood what he was feeling at the moment, and as furious as he was, he just couldn't stay mad at the man for ruining everything.

But the rookie… she was different. She was the easiest outlet to heap his frustration on, and to his surprise, her confident bolster from earlier had completely disappeared and she listened him rant and rave and blame her for nearly everything that had gone wrong. He was so far into his resentment that he nearly overlooked that she had sufficient cause and she had done everything right, by the book, just as he would have.

She tried to apologize, but he shot her down. He didn't need Bambi or any of her excuses right now. As far as he was concerned, she was the reason why he had to go back to donning the blues, and nothing she said or anyone said was going to change that fact.

. . . . .

She wasn't sure what motivated her to step into the men's locker room to look for him, just that there was an overwhelming sense of guilt and the need to make things right. She approached quietly, rehearsing her words of apology in her head, hoping that they would be enough to soothe his anger, but when she saw him, kicking and venting his frustration against his locker door, all thoughts of giving a meek apology flew out her head.

She didn't know why she started yelling at him, only that he suddenly made her so angry and she wanted to take it out on him. Didn't he realize that she was as frustrated as he was? Didn't he realize that she probably felt worse than he did? His operation had failed, and it was her fault, and there was so much more at stake for her here. Why didn't he see that?

But there was much more at risk than either of their feelings: a man had been murdered and his killer was still at large. She knew she had to focus on that, focus on making things right again, and she hoped that he would be able to look beyond his own failure to help her. It was their only saving grace.

She just wished he wouldn't undress in front of her. She knew she had encroached upon his territory, the one safe haven he probably escaped to so he didn't have to face her, but she was still unprepared for the sight of his toned abs. She didn't know what she was expecting… a beer belly, perhaps? This man obviously kept himself in good shape for the job, and for the first time, she actually wished he hadn't so she could force her eyes away.

It became a challenge to keep her gaze averted, and pretending to offer him some measure of privacy while he undressed in front of her was harder than she imagined. It took great effort to plaster a nonchalant expression on her face and act as if men undressed in front of her every day, and she was sure that he would see through her bluff.

She tried to focus on his words instead, on the important details he was telling her, but then his jeans dropped and his briefs came into view and she had to mentally censor herself for the lusty thoughts that suddenly popped into her head.

He might be a jerk, but Sam Swarek was also one fine man.

. . . . .

He did it to get a rise out of her.

He had headed straight for the locker room, wanting to release some of the tension that had been building up inside of him and wanting a hot shower to wash away the memory of her hands on him. Kicking his locker had been juvenile; the last time he did that was probably in high school when Mary Williams broke up with him. He couldn't remember any time after that where he felt so angry and helpless at the same time and needed to take his anger out on something else.

Then she'd stormed in and he hoped that she wasn't there to give him a meek apology, because God knows, he couldn't handle any more doe-eyed innocence and timid words. She surprised him once again, lashing out at him and making him focus beyond his immediate situation. She reminded him that there was so much more at stake, more than his failure and her stupid mistake. She reminded him that he was a cop. That catching the bad guys was the reason why he took up the UC job.

He was humbled. He had been blinded by the anger, the denial of what he saw as his big, glorious moment when Anton Hill was taken out of commission that he hadn't stopped to think further than that. Her words reminded him that she had a job to do – as did he – and that he could not allow one failure to overshadow the duties and responsibilities he had to the city and her people.

Her words brought an uncomfortable lump to his throat, and he suddenly felt the need to rattle her senses as thoroughly as she had his. So he chose the next best alternative: taking his clothes off. His tee came off, as did his shoes, but he didn't see a flicker of interest until his sweatshirt came off.

His ego took a boost then, because he knew he was in great shape. He took pride in his body, keeping it in its prime. Working out had been his way of relieving tension while on the job, and it became a maniacal obsession when he went undercover. It gave him some semblance of normalcy in his otherwise abnormal life, and it grounded him because it would remind him of the times when he kept fit so he could always catch up with the baddies.

He couldn't deny the masculine pride that rose up in him when she diverted her gaze as he dropped his jeans, knowing that although she had been doing a pretty good job of remaining impassive and unconcerned about his various bouts of nakedness, she wasn't nearly as unaffected as she pretended to be.

He didn't understand why, but he had a desperate need for her to want him. He brushed it off as a yearning for a woman – any woman's – attention.

But if he had been more vigilant, he would have asked himself why he bothered to take a second look, a longer look, at her retreating back.

. . . . .

She tried to buy him a drink, at The Black Penny, to say sorry, thanks, or whatever; anything to help soothe over the events of the day. It was the only way she could think of assuaging part of her guilt. She'd ruined his sting but he still gave her valuable details to work on her own case, and she definitely owed him a big one for that.

But his pride wouldn't let him let her go that easy, and he wanted to make her suffer a little more, a little while longer. He had been so close to taking Anton Hill off the streets permanently, and he needed her to understand how much effort she had washed down the drain.

Another day, another time, he might consider her offer; hell, he might even buy her a beer instead. But for now, he just wanted to drown his sorrows and remind himself why he never quite liked rookies anyway.


	3. 002 Unsanctioned Temptations

**Chapter Note: ** Sooo… I am finally back with a new chapter! Had to go rewatch, pause, rewatch 1x02 again, but it was totally worth it (gives me an excuse for some Rookie Blue in this mega long hiatus). Despite my ambivalence towards post-S4 McSwarek, they were at their best in the first season (IMHO) and I love writing them during this period. This chapter is so much longer than the previous one, because the entire thing is just made up of McSwarek scenes. Enjoy, and let me know if you're reading! xx

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><p><strong>002. Unsanctioned Temptations<strong>

It's her next shift – and the second one after she infamously caught an undercover cop – and Andy is feeling flustered.

It isn't because she caught a handbag-snatching asshole and cuffed him, all by herself; neither is it because she's got her backpack slung over one shoulder, her dry cleaning clutched in the other hand, and all manners of private garments falling out of both. Plus, she can't find her keys, nor her key card, and it took her longer than usual to open the damned door to booking and shuffle inside, one hand on her drycleaning, one hand holding her keys and another… oh wait, that's Oliver's hand guiding the suspect to the desk.

Nope, that's not why she's feeling flustered.

The reason she's feeling flustered is standing in front of her, dressed smartly in blues, the same blues she's probably wrinkling by the way she is grabbing onto it.

Damn, Sam Swarek is mighty fine once he gets all cleaned up. She'd have to be blind to not notice that.

Or at least, that's what she's telling herself. It takes an immense amount of discipline to remain calm, detached and cool when he greets her. Her brain yells "Say hello back, like a normal person!" but her tongue is tied and she is pretty sure a stupid grin is forming on her face.

Has her brain already processed the fact that Swarek looks damned good in his uniform?

She can't stop the words from coming out of her mouth, and the moment she asks Sam why he's in uniform, she gives herself a mental slap. Of course Sam can't be in plainclothes anymore – she was responsible for blowing his cover. Sam's sarcastic reply has her mentally slapping herself again, but she probably deserves it. After all, male pride and all that.

So she says nothing while he teases her, asking the suspect if she jumped him too and Oliver's responding laughter as Sam asks if the suspect is yet another undercover cop. But she can't help but feel like this whole bust-Sam's-ass thing is going to hang over her head forever. She doesn't think Sam is the type to let his wounded ego heal and then move on with life.

He's the kind of man who holds grudges and remembers them fifty years later when everyone else is losing their eyesight and forgetting to wear their glasses. And Andy can't help but wonder if it's just because of him, or if it's because of her.

. . . . .

He's just gotten dressed for parade – damn, these blues fit tighter than he remembered! – when Oliver gets a frantic call from his rookie, McNally. That rookie. The one who jumped him in the alley and then proceeded to blow his cover in front of the biggest mouth in Canada.

He can't help it – he rolls his eyes. This one would be all sorts of trouble, he reckons. Every new crop of rookies that came in, there was always one of those. The eager beaver, the overachiever. The one who will trip over their own feet just to impress their training officers. He sighs, as Oliver pats his back and rushes out of the door – presumably to go save his latest rook from whatever trouble she has probably gotten herself into.

But he's pleasantly surprised when Oliver calls in to say that McNally has caught a handbag snatching thief. McNally, the one rookie he is secretly hoping is one of those super incompetent types who can't tie their own shoelaces together, just so he can write her a nasty report card.

Yes, he's still chauffed about her catching him, and just thinking of how she did it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. His own fault, he supposes. Or not, since if McNally hadn't been so eager to make her first arrest – on her first day! Who the hell goes all out to make an arrest on the first day! – he would probably still be working undercover, sniffing more important details on the lowlifes that inhabit the city.

Begrudgingly, he takes a minute to admit to himself that McNally's record is now two for two, and Boyko has got to be so proud. But that moment is fleeting, because he feels his ego start to bruise again. Caught, by a rookie! This has got to be the one experience in his entire career as a cop that he will never be able to live down.

He doesn't know what possesses him to wait in booking as Oliver and Andy come in. Maybe it's to see for himself the lowlife that McNally has caught, or make sure that she's followed procedure (he is a senior officer after all), but he would never admit it to himself that it's maybe just because he wants to see McNally.

And when she comes in, all flustered and worked up, holding on to her drycleaning – which, by the way, he is sure is now beginning to wrinkle from her tight grip on it – something goes off in him. She's exactly like she was when they first met, nervous, shaky, yet with that undercurrent of secret pride knowing that she did something good.

It tempts him to get under her skin, to ruffle her feathers even further, and he can't help the sarcastic "Oh, hello" that comes out of his mouth. In another situation, it might be considered rude – she was, after all, just doing her job – but at this moment, he doesn't really care.

He's trying hard not to laugh at her when she asks why he's in uniform. Isn't the reason obvious? Or did she conveniently forget what happened on her last shift? It definitely can't be because he looks _that_ different in his blues. Last he checked, the color brought out his eyes, or at least that's what his last girlfriend said. (She also had a fetish for men in uniform, so that might have biased her a little.)

McNally is holding her tongue, trying not to reply and he can't help but want to push her buttons again. He snarks about her jumping the suspect and making sure he's not an undercover cop, and is somewhat dissatisfied when she just keeps silent. There's something about McNally when she's trading barbs with him or getting worked up.

As he turns away to leave booking, one thought flashes through his mind: Andy McNally sure is cute when she's flustered.

. . . . .

They're in parade when Sam walks in to applause from his fellow officers and Andy tries to keep her head down. After the disaster of this morning, she's not very keen on having Sam make another sarcastic remark about her catching him.

He's like a five-year-old, she thinks, except physically bigger. Or make that a really immature teenager with a potty mouth, after his comments about returning to the field.

She's trying not to be so concerned about Sam Swarek, especially not with Luke Callaghan standing in front of her, in a suit. She's always been a sucker for men in suits, it makes them more suave, more masculine and and definitely sexier – in her very humble opinion – and there is no denying that with the way Luke is filling out his suit, he is probably one of the finest specimens of the male kind.

So she's not sure why she's sneaking looks at Swarek over heads, like they share a private joke with each other, or why his intense gaze has shivers slithering up her spine. She quickly turns away, hoping to calm herself down – when did her pulse start increasing, anyway? – and swallows nervously, hoping that no one saw them look at each other and asks her about it.

And when Boyko announces that she's partnered with Sam today, all she can think of is: this day has just gotten worse.

. . . . .

Sam comes in late to parade, determined to make an entrance.

Despite what has happened, he does like donning his uniform and being back on the job. Staying undercover for too long has a way of messing with one's mind, and he had to remind himself daily that he wasn't a lowlife, just pretending to be one.

It is nice to be back with friends and colleagues, he thinks. On the right side of the law again. There is nothing he'd missed more than the shared camaraderie he has with more than half the people in this room, and he is definitely glad to be back.

Of course, he needs to make a wisecrack – he still is Sam Swarek with a reputation as Mr. Cool to uphold, especially in front of the new batch of rookies – but it's taken lightly and he knows his happiness at being in this room is reciprocated. By almost everyone. Except maybe one.

That rookie.

His eyes have already sought McNally out from the moment he walked through the door, and he's not the least bit surprised to see that she's seated near the front of the room, eyes forward and intently taking notes on whatever Callaghan had been in the middle of briefing them. Just like a goody two shoes aiming to be the teacher's pet.

Yet, for all his irritation over McNally, he isn't sure why he keeps his gaze on her, or why, before parade started, he sought Boyko out and asked for a special car arrangement to have McNally riding with him. Nor does he quite understand why, when Andy finally lifts her eyes to meet his, and then holds his gaze steadily, without flinching, that he feels a slight tingle.

One thing he is sure about though: it's going to be a hell of a shift today.

. . . . .

Andy stands outside the D's office, pretending to be reviewing her notes from parade when she's actually surreptitiously keeping an eye on Swarek, who's talking with Noelle and Oliver. She thinks he's doing it on purpose, making her wait, and that just adds to her annoyance.

She sees Gail wandering over with two cups of coffee and shakes her head. That girl will do anything to be liked by her superiors and she prays that she will never be that sort of girl. Plus, there is no way in hell she will ever be bringing Sam Swarek, of all people, a cup of coffee in the morning. Maybe she would, only if she gets to dump it over his hairy head.

Luke pokes his head out of the office and she knows he's paused a phone call for her and she's touched. He automatically puts a smile on her face, and she can't help but wonder why she can't have Luke as her training officer instead of Sam. Or if Sam could learn some manners from Luke and comb his hair nicely, wear a suit, and treat her like she isn't vermin. Like she actually is a nice person capable of being liked and respected.

By the time Sam comes around and they grab their go bag, the cloud nine feeling she had from the conversation with Luke has faded away and she's filled with dread.

He goes into a spiel about the rules and how it's his car and hence his rules, and it takes all she has not to roll her eyes and say "Yes sir" instead in her most serious voice and hope that he's mollified that she will be an obedient rookie who's eager to learn.

She furrows her brow at the thought that he doesn't like working the streets – who couldn't like working the streets? It's like one of the most exciting things of being a cop – but she's even more confused that he doesn't like having partners, and worse, doesn't even want to be a training officer.

What was this guy? A loner? He seemed pretty well-liked by his colleagues in parade, but evidently, she surmises that Sam probably isn't the type to form deep, committed relationships. He's probably the kind who bails out once things start to look like they may get serious, and she makes a mental note to stay competely professional with this man.

She doesn't even think it'll be a good idea to even be friends, not that she's thinking of moving their T.O.-rookie relationship anywhere out of those boundaries.

On hearing him say that he isn't her boyfriend and isn't going to hold her hand, she scoffs and is determined to set the record straight.

"I don't date cops," she tells him right off the bat, feeling righteous because hey, that's the right thing to do and say, especially to your training officer. But deep down, she's thinking that hell probably needs to freeze over and pigs need to fly before she will even consider dating Mr. Sam Sarcastic Mouth.

And when he shoots her down by saying she's not his type, a little pang of disappointment comes over her, but goes away equally as fast that she's left wondering if she imagined it at all.

. . . . .

Noelle and Oliver are talking, but Sam isn't really paying attention to what they're saying. He's cognizant of his rookie – no, Andy McNally. He'll be damned if he thinks of her as _his_ rookie – standing some distance away. She's flipping through her notes, looking as if she's studying them intently and memorizing all the pertinent facts, but he's quite sure she's not even reading the words on the page.

Peck comes over with coffee for Noelle, and even though he knows that she's just doing it to score points and not really doing it out of the niceness of her heart, he wishes that his own rookie – damn, he just can't stop thinking of McNally as _his_ rookie! – would also do the same. If nothing more than just to give him something to rib her about.

He thinks it might become a habit, him teasing her and she getting bothered when something is on the tip of her tongue yet holding back because she doesn't want to be disrespectful. It perks him up, thinking of the amount of fun they could have, or rather, he could have, at her expense. That was just one of the perks of being a training officer. In addition to the free coffee every morning.

A glance over has him gritting his teeth when he sees Callaghan poke his head out of the office and Andy's answering grin. He's too far to hear what they're saying, but he's sure Callaghan is making a pass. The detective has made a pass at one unsuspecting rookie every year since he and Rosati broke up, and Sam isn't blind to see why Callaghan has picked Andy to be the flavor of the season.

With a flourish, he tells – no, demands – that Andy get their go bag and head out to the car, and he doesn't understand why Callaghan picking Andy should bother him so much. He doesn't even like either of them, so shouldn't that make them a perfect match? And why should he bother whether or not they're a perfect match?

The irritation lingers as he spells out to Andy exactly what he expects of them working together. Mainly, him issuing the orders and she listening. She agrees, too quickly in his opinion, and he hopes to God that she doesn't go back on her word. He thinks she's the kind of newbie in uniform who would dash head first into danger instead of following protocol, and he definitely isn't ready or willing to go save her ass.

He feels the need to point out that he doesn't want to be her training officer, or even ride with her, anything to continue the idea that he can't stand her. He'll die first before he lets her or anyone know that he specifically requested to work with her today, and he definitely doesn't want her to think that he's giving her special attention because he might be somewhat attracted to her.

So, he definitely feels slighted when she says that she doesn't date cops, effectively shutting him down and out of her personal life, and when he makes a witty comeback, he notices the flash of hurt in her eyes. It shuts him up for a second, but enough to wonder why his words should bother her so much, and why the hell he even cares.

. . . . .

Sam drives into the dingy part of town and Andy briefly wonders if he brings all his girlfriends to such nice places. He stops the car in a quiet alley way and tells her to arrest Emily Starling for failing to pay child support, a charge that she's nearly a hundred percent sure is false and holds no merit whatsoever.

She's incredulous; instead of looking for Reeny, she now has to go on a personal mission for Sam Swarek that probably involves an ex-girlfriend. She hopes that she isn't being used as a pawn in whatever game Swarek and this Emily are playing, because she wants no part in it.

And that's not even considering that he's sending her upstairs, alone, without backup and it's only her second day at work, for crying out loud. Look for a woman, arrest her on a made-up charge, all by herself. Piece of cake, she told herself. Except that she couldn't quite convince herself that everything would go the easy way Sam made it sound.

She demands for the warrant, and is taken aback when Sam actually produces one. Left with no other arguments, she gets out of the car and heads to the door that Sam describes, only to find it locked. Of course, with her luck, this should be the only major thing that happens to her today.

The first thing that comes to mind is radioing Sam, but she doesn't need one more incident for him to use against her. So she calls the next best person: her father.

And when she finally gains access, the sense of triumph is inexplicable. Take that, Sam Swarek!

. . . . .

Sam navigates through Chinatown, wishing not for the first time that he wasn't driving a police car. The cruiser attracts far too much attention, more than he'd like in a place like this. It was one of his frequent hangouts during his UC days, and he's a tad worried that someone from that life might see him now.

So he has no choice but to stop the car a distance away from Emily's office, and he has no choice but to send McNally up.

"There's a red metal door down that alley to your right," he tells her, careful to be very specific in his descriptions. Knowing McNally, she would probably have knocked on every door, yelling "Police!" and chasing them all away before she even reached Emily.

When he tells her to arrest Emily, he expects her to acquisience and has to think on his feet for a charge. "Family court warrant. Failure to pay child support," is the first thing that comes to mind, and as soon as he says it, he's thinking that Emily would definitely bust his balls for using that line.

She asks for a warrant, and Sam is proud of himself for already anticipating that demand. He pulls an envelope from his pocket, a carefully placed menu for the Sichuan Gourmet restaurant inside, and hands it to her. He's counting on her to not check the warrant before she gets to Emily, and is relieved when she accepts him – and the warrant – at his word.

As McNally exits the car, "warrant" in hand, he wonders if sending her in alone is the right thing to do. It's one thing to hand hold a rookie – which he definitely hates doing – but it's another to leave them without backup. He convincing himself that it's just a short distance away and he can hear if any commotion arises and hey, how difficult would it be to arrest Emily anyway?

It's the last mistake he'll ever make with Andy McNally.

. . . . .

She makes her way up three floors, exactly as Sam instructs and along the way she passes bags and bags of clothes. Wondering what on earth Emily Starling does for a living and how she could be related to that creep Reeny, she makes her way to the back office.

She's right about one thing, and it's that the charge is bogus, because Emily doesn't even have a kid and she wants to kill Sam Swarek there and then for leading her on this wild goose chase. She can't badmouth her T.O. in front of a suspect, but before she can think of how to convince Emily to leave with the least amount of resistance, two Asian guys come up behind her.

"I have a warrant," she announces, her confidence bolstered by the piece of paper she holds in her hand. But when she opens the envelope and sees more than a stupid menu for some stupid restaurant that Swarek no doubt ordered last night's dinner from, the urge to wring his neck is stronger than ever.

Now she's caught, all alone, in a small little room with a woman who isn't a suspect but needs to be arrested, and two gangsters who don't speak English and look like they aren't adverse to resorting to bodily harm blocking her only exit. She cuffs Emily nonetheless, surprised that the woman isn't putting up much of a fight, and breathes a sigh of relief when the thugs allow them to leave.

What she is unprepared for is Emily greeting Sam in such a familiar manner, and the fact that Sam tells Emily that she's in danger. Swarek doesn't seem like the type to protect anybody, but it seems like she's read him wrong. She doesn't want to shove Emily into the back of the squad, but if Sam is right about her life being in danger, then being with cops could be the safest place for Emily, so she swallows any protest and does as Sam instructs.

She's still miffed that he's been sitting in the car, eating a snack, while she was busting her ass getting Emily. Okay, so she didn't exactly have to bust her ass but still, did he have to leave her all alone and allow her to venture into unfamiliar territory without backup?

So she tells him that she's sick of playing by his rules, his stupid rules, and her anger multiplies when he confesses that he doesn't exactly have any. Sam Swarek is the kind of cop she hates, the kind of cop she never wants to be, and she hopes to whatever powers that be that she'll never have to work with him again.

. . . . .

He's halfway through his sandwich when Emily starts yelling at him. Great, if there was anything worse than McNally and her rookie-ness, it was a pissed off Emily. That woman was capable of raising hell and high water if she wanted, and he didn't need her to announce his presence to the entire neighborhood.

He's trying to impress upon Emily that she's in danger and time is of essence and what does he see but Andy McNally giving him an eyeroll. He can tell that she's pissed about something, but he'll be damned if she gave him grief over the fake warrant. Emily's life is in danger and he doesn't care if McNally is angry.

When Andy confronts him about the fake warrant, he tells her that there are no rules with him. It's the way he does his job; he doesn't like being encumbered with paperwork and definitely not when an informant's life is in danger. He doesn't care for going by the book – which he suspects Andy is a huge fan of – and thinks it's high time Andy learnt that being a cop isn't about sticking as close to procedure as possible.

He can't help his parting shot, still loving the fact that he can always get the last word with her, and once again, he can't help the pleasure at being the one to get under her skin.

. . . . .

Sam takes her to his undercover apartment and she wrinkles her nose at how dirty and unkempt the entire place is. She guesses that's how pigs live, and has to admit that she isn't totally surprised that Sam could live on the down and dirty like this.

The place gives her a look into Sam's psyche, not that she would be bothered to know in the first place, but she has to admit that she is curious. While he's busy cutting up his mattress, she's ruffling through the stuff on top of his drawer and hopes he hasn't brought her here to pick up his secret stash of drugs.

She wouldn't put it past him, since he's already admitted that he goes off the rails sometimes; she just doesn't want to be caught abetting him.

But when the phone call comes in from Rueben saying that Emily's escaped, a new sort of dread fills her. Because while she might hate Sam Swarek's guts, she knows how dangerous Anton Hill is and what a threat he poses to Emily, and if they don't reach her before Hill does, she doesn't want to know what might become of the other woman.

. . . . .

He's apprehensive about bringing her to his apartment, but he doesn't have much of a choice. She shoots down his request for her to stay in the car, and the embarrassment about the state of the place stains his face.

He's uncomfortable with her being in his private space, after all, he doesn't even like her, but he tries not to let her nosiness bother him, especially when she's looking through his DVD collection and picks out, of all things, the Moby Dick set. He's protective about the DVD collection – not like the store down the street had a great selection of titles anyway - and feels a gross invasion of his privacy. He can't think of a reason to stop her meddling, and is saved by the ringing of his phone.

When he gets the news, all he can think is that the day has just gotten worse.

. . . . .

She thinks Sam might be sort of a decent guy when he tells her that he wants to use his undercover drug money to help Emily get back on her feet. She wants to be a good cop, but Emily's story tugs at her heartstrings and she desperately wants to believe that the girl has changed and is trying to make something out of her life. That's one thing she's agreeing with Sam all day long, so she tells him, yes, she'll back him up.

Seeing him take down that Asian thug who was from Emily's office... She's still a little wide-eyes, her hands maybe a little clammy, and she she shouldn't be, because she's practiced hand to hand combat all the time in the academy, but seeing it happen, in real time, with a truly hostile opponent, has her a little shaken.

She begins to feel his fear for Emily's life, especially after creepface admits that Anton Hill's guys have gotten to her. Her protective instincts come up to the fore, this is why she became a cop, isn't it? To protect the innocent. Suddenly, finding Emily is so much more important than Reeny and it's now her personal race against time to find whatever it is Anton Hill wants before Emily ends up in a body bag.

But that desperation doesn't stem the familiar tide of annoyance as Sam hustles her out of the office, on what she hopes isn't yet another wild goose chase. She's done hoping that he'll actually confide in her about his thoughts and his plans and what he's thinking; now she's only able to hope that he knows what he's doing and that whatever he's thinking of won't get them both killed.

. . . . .

Sam tries to rein in his anger and impatience as McNally spouts rule after rule. We need backup, she argues. We need to wait for more… more what, he thinks. He doesn't have time. Emily doesn't have time. This rookie was such a stickler for procedure that it made his teeth hurt.

He finally admits that Emily was never carded and hence will never be the department's problem, and he sees the understanding dawn in McNally's eyes, together with some sort of dulling shine. He thinks for a moment that perhaps she's already taken him off his pedestal, and is somewhat sorry he disappointed her, but this is who he is. He can't stick to the rules wholesale, not when his duty is to protect and serve and he knows what sort of dangers await his confidential informants on the streets.

He didn't mean to bring up McNally taking him down again, but her expression is so solemn, so distraught that for just one second he wants to lift her face to his and tell her that it doesn't matter. Because although he won't admit it to anyone, him being caught doesn't matter anymore. It had dire consequences, but he would find another way to get Hill off the streets. He always did.

He wants to tell McNally that, to reassure her, and this overwhelming need to give her some small measure of comfort is eating at him. This is neither the place nor the time and the emotion makes him uncomfortable to be in the same car as her.

So he does what he does best: he tells her to get out.

. . . . .

When he sees her at the top of the stairs, gun drawn, it takes all he has not to look shocked. He isn't sure what the hell his rookie is doing here, or how she even found him, but he's sure that she's going to change the game.

He stares at the thumbdrive in her hand, unsure if he should call her bluff or if she's really holding the real deal. He thinks the former is more likely, since he can't believe that the little rookie managed to figure out where Emily was hiding her insurance.

But all that doesn't matter, since Emily is now safe with them. When he tells Andy that she behaved like a cop, what he really wants to tell her is that he's proud of her. He wasn't sure in the beginning if she'd have the guts to do what was necessary instead of what was right, but now he knows.

Andy McNally would make one hell of a police officer.

. . . . .

She isn't lying when she tells Traci that her car changed her day, and even drinking a beer, she can't stop the self-satisfied glow that seems to emanate from within.

She's done a good thing today, even if she didn't think it was right in the beginning. Exchanging the USB for Emily's life seemed like a small sacrifice to make, and she was sure she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

And though she tells everyone that it's a good day because they saved an innocent's life, what she really means is that it's a good day because she and Sam have seemed to move on from their initial antagonistic partnership and she thinks this might actually be the start of something.

Of what, she's not sure; neither is she sure why she followed him out the Penny or why she's babbling about Emily when all she wants to do is see him smile again.

And when he asks to take her home, she grins, because he's just proven that she is his type, and she wants nothing more than him to kiss her but she pulls back at the last minute, remembering her own words. She doesn't date cops, this is her first week at work, and she'd go to hell if she was that kind of girl who slept with her training officer just to get ahead.

But as she turns away from Sam, all she can think of is what a big mistake she has just made.


End file.
